


Scenes From a Marriage

by debirlfan



Category: Boston Legal
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Gen Fic, M/M, Post Season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-20
Updated: 2011-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-27 14:36:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/296910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/debirlfan/pseuds/debirlfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scenes from a non-conventional marriage.  Denny and Alan make plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scenes From a Marriage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [3pipeproblem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/3pipeproblem/gifts).



> For 3pipeproblem Yuletide 2011 - hope you enjoy!
> 
> (Depending on your views on their relationship, this can probably be read as either gen or slash, or something somewhere in between.)

\---Scenes from a Marriage---

 

They sat together on the back deck, surrounded by a faint haze of smoke. Alan was grateful for the unseasonable warmth; while Denny enjoyed a good cigar even more than he did, Denny wouldn't allow smoking in the house.

 

“You know, you could have stayed.”

 

Pulled from his own musings, Alan turned his attention to his friend and husband. “At the lodge? Please, I've had quite enough of the great white north.” While he went along because he knew how much Denny enjoyed it, Alan had no real interest in fishing or in the rugged wilderness that surrounded the lake. He was a creature of comfort, accustomed to central heating and sleeping in a king sized bed, rather than on a lumpy cot in front of a fireplace that singed his hair while leaving his posterior frozen. As far as he was concerned, salmon should be served on a plate with risotto, accompanied by salad and a fine wine, not plucked fighting from a lake and grilled over an open flame. Although the main reason they had hurried back from Canada was so that Denny could start on the new Alzheimer medication, Alan wasn't disappointed that they hadn't been able to stay longer.

 

The scowl he received in answer told Alan that Denny hadn't been referring to the lodge. With a sharp motion, Denny flicked ash off the side of the deck. “I meant at Chang, Poole and Schmidt.”

 

“They made it rather clear that they didn't want us, Denny.”

 

“No, they made it clear they didn't want _me_.” He emphasized the final word with a stab of the cigar.

 

“Same thing. We're a package deal.”

 

Denny was silent for a long moment. “We don't have to be,” he said, finally. “Not like that.”

 

“Nonsense.”

 

“After the career he's had, Denny Crane can afford to rest on his laurels, but you've still got a future in the profession. Cases to try. Clients to save. People to sue.”

 

Alan leaned back, watching the tendrils of smoke curl towards the sky. “That future's not going to be spent working for the Chinese.” He didn't want to try to explain it to Denny, who would undoubtedly protest, but it was a matter of loyalty. His was to Denny, and possibly to a somewhat lesser extent, to Shirley. Shirley, who had already filed suit to get her name removed from Chang, Poole and Schmidt. “With you gone, who would be there to protect me?” Alan asked, giving Denny a reason he knew he'd accept. “Remember Julio Flores? What if another dissatisfied defendant tried to kill me?”

 

“Of course I remember. Flores would have shot you if I hadn't shot first.” He glanced over at Alan with a half-grin. “You do bring out the worst in people.” Denny sighted an imaginary rifle, swinging it in an arc across the horizon. “Lock and load.”

 

“Indeed.”

 

Denny fired the rifle at something only he could see, jerking slightly as if the weapon had kicked. He appeared to be pleased with the results. “Got him,” Denny confirmed. “Damn illegals trying to sneak over our borders.”

 

“Illegals crossing our borders? Here in Boston?” Alan was fairly certain that Denny was only being his usual outlandish self, but even he wasn't entirely sure. With Denny, sometimes it was difficult to tell the difference between Mad Cow, certifiably crazy, and simply crazy like a fox.

 

“Borders, property lines. Same thing.” The deepening grin confirmed that Denny was playing with him. “And it's the worst kind of illegals. Those damn Canadians with all their liberal ideas. Nowhere is safe.” Denny swept the tree line with the imaginary firearm one last time before making a show of stowing it beside his chair.

 

Alan chose not to remind Denny that they had just returned from Canada.

 

A moment later Denny stubbed out his cigar. “To hell with them.”

 

“The Canadians?” Alan inquired.

 

“The Chinese. You told me the other day that you'd like to do legal aid work. We'll start our own firm and the Chinese can go to hell.”

 

-*-*-

 

The building that would house their new offices was still technically under final construction, and Alan wasn't quite sure how Denny had finagled access, much less managed to have chairs installed out of the balcony.

 

“Sit,” Denny commanded, waving toward one of the chairs with the hand that wasn't holding the bottle of Scotch.

 

“Denny, it's barely above freezing out here!” The night air was crisp, and there was snow in the forecast. Even with a heavy winter coat on, it was too cold to sit out and admire the admittedly grand view of the city spread out below them.

 

“Sit,” Denny repeated, doing so himself. He set down the two glasses he had been juggling, then opened the scotch and poured a more than healthy portion into each.

 

Seeing that Denny wasn't about to be denied, Alan relented and took the other seat. He nearly jumped as a flush of warmth permeated the fabric of his pants. “What...?”

 

“Heated seats. It was either that or an enclosed balcony. I'm getting too damned old to freeze my balls off.”

 

Alan snorted. Denny was, if anything, growing younger. The new drug appeared to be working. At a minimum, Denny's mental status wasn't getting any worse, and it actually appeared there had been some improvement.

 

“Do you know where we are?” Denny asked, passing one of the glasses to Alan.

 

“Boston?” Alan strongly suspected that wasn't the right answer.

 

“Wise ass.” Denny sipped his Scotch. “We're on the thirty-second floor.”

 

At first, Alan didn't catch the significance. Able to work almost anywhere, Alan had allowed Denny free rein to procure their office space and hadn't paid particular attention to the details. He finally worked it out. “We're four floors above Chang, Poole and Lewiston.”

 

“Damn straight. Paul and his little Chinese buddies can stick that in their pipes and smoke it.”

 

Alan knew that Denny still hadn't forgiven Lewiston for siding with the new management, an arrangement that had led to his name on the front door after Shirley managed to get hers off of it. Perhaps this was Denny's idea of holding the high ground. “I must say, most legal aid offices are little more than a hole in the wall. I fear this place may scare off our clientele.”

 

“They'll get over it. Maybe we can give out free coffee and doughnuts in the lobby. Poor people love free food.”

 

“We might get further with free Scotch.” Alan swirled what remained in his glass.

 

“Maybe,” Denny allowed. “Not the good stuff, though.” He was silent for a moment. “Alan, I want you to take my name.”

 

Alan looked up sharply. “Why?”

 

“Crane and Crane sounds better than Crane and Shore. Crane and Shore sounds like a company you'd call to come haul your boat out of the water at the end of the season.”

 

“I was thinking more along the lines of Shore and Crane.” Actually, Alan hadn't been thinking about it at all.

 

“Worse. I picture nautical salvage.” Denny reached into an inside pocket and retrieved cigars. He passed one to Alan before refilling their glasses. “Alan, the Crane name still means something. It carries a certain amount of weight. A legacy. You could add to that legacy.”

 

“Alan Crane.” Alan rolled it off his tongue, testing how it felt.

 

“Alan Crane. Alan Crane, of Crane and Crane.” When Denny said it, somehow it sounded right.

 

“And Denny Crane, of Crane and Crane?” Alan asked.

 

“Denny Crane. Crane and Crane. Putting the people back in 'poor people'.”

 

Somehow, it didn't sound entirely ridiculous when Denny said it.

 

-*-*-


End file.
